


Zombie Age

by wargoddess



Series: Prompts [1]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-17
Updated: 2014-04-17
Packaged: 2018-01-19 18:56:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1480456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wargoddess/pseuds/wargoddess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cullen and Carver face the zombie apocalypse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Zombie Age

**Author's Note:**

> From a Tumblr prompt from zharvolk: "Wanna try your hand at Cullen and Carver in an Modern Zombie Apocalypse AU?" Flavored by every zombie movie ever, but most notably "28 Days Later".

It was scary enough waking up in the hospital; Carver didn’t remember the accident or the coma.  But the hospital was dark, and there was no one around — and when he shuffled out of the hospital room, chafing his arms because there was no heat and he had nothing to wear but one of those stupid gowns, he quickly realized something was very wrong.  There were overturned chairs and gurneys in the hallways, and a lot of piled-up debris —

— except the piles weren’t just debris.  They were bodies.  And some of them had been… well… _chewed_. A good number were headless.

So, yeah, that was terrifying.  But as he stumbled around through the hospital, hearing more and more sounds that unnerved him and inching increasingly closer to flipping the fuck out, he found another room, and another fellow who was alive.  Or the fellow found him, rather, by hearing Carver rummaging for clothes and food in the office outside, and banging on the door of his cell.

Carver was worried at first, of course, ‘cause they were in the psych ward, and the cell the fellow had been locked in was the padded kind, with nice white walls.  The fellow was kind of sketchy, too — blond, posh-talking, with great dark circles under his eyes and hands that shook when he told Carver of his visions of demons.  But — well, what was Carver going to do, leave him in there to starve?  And demons or no, Cullen had been quick enough when they were surprised by a dead nurse in the bathroom.  A _walking_ dead nurse, her mouth red and eyes hellish, who’d tried her level damnedest to eat them both.  It was Cullen who found the fire axe and lopped her head off with it.

And it was Cullen who took care of Carver for those first few days while he recovered from the coma, and accompanied him as he doggedly made his way across miles to find the Hawke family farm.  And it was Cullen who held Carver while he wept, upon finding the letter from his mother saying _Bethany died in the accident, Carver, and Marian and I are going to make our way overseas where we’ve heard it’s better.  Don’t wake up, my sweet boy.  Please don’t wake up._  

Cullen who made him eat, when he stopped bothering.

Cullen who dragged him out back, and made Carver learn how to use the fire ax, and then sparred against him while wielding a machete and a garbage-can lid for a shield.

Cullen who helped Carver till the field, and batten down the house for defense and warmth, and forage for food so that they’d be able to last the winter if rescue didn’t come before then.  If rescue ever came.

Cullen who risked his life heading alone to the sporting-goods store at the mall.  When Carver realized it and went after him, and had to cut through a dozen walkers to save him, it was Cullen who begged his forgiveness, and then gave Carver the antique broadsword he’d come to find.  Carver’s birthday, see.

Cullen whose blushes and longing looks Carver _finally_ understood after six bloody months.  Cullen who was kind and wise and beautiful once  his demons stopped troubling him — too many real monsters around for delusions to have much power — and Cullen who was lean and tan whenever he undressed to sponge-bathe, giving Carver itchy dreams and achy bits.  Cullen to whom Carver went one night, when it was cold and he was lonely.  Cullen whose hands shook again as he touched Carver, and as Carver touched him back, and as they made love in total silence.  Safer that way.

Cullen who promised, in the dark of the night when it grew quiet and they could hear the monsters screaming in the distance:  “They will not have you.”  Carver promised the same, of course.  Better than marriage, these days.

And it was with Cullen, one afternoon as they were working on the roof of the grain silo, that Carver heard the plane.  Military, looked like. After they screamed and jumped up and down and waved their arms, it dropped a letter tied to a rock: _Pickup in morning, helicopter._

So, yeah. 

Yeah, Carver’s sister was dead and the rest of his family was fuck-knows-where, and probably a good-sized chunk of humankind got zombified.  And yeah, he had to spend awhile playing Robinson Crusoe on a farm with some crazy sod who talked like a knight of old.  But at least the crazy sod was good in bed — God, was he ever — and at least the zombies didn’t bother them much out in the middle of nowhere.  And at least he was still alive.  _They_ were still alive.  He held Cullen close that night, savoring the solitude that he’d previously taken for granted and relishing the sound of one strong heartbeat beneath his ear, one man’s steady breathing, one body that was solid and warm and strong.  Alive.

So, end of the world.  Could’ve been worse.  And now everything was going to be just fine.


End file.
